


Let Me Kiss You Hard In The Pouring Rain

by Soul_in_the_Starlight



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/Soul_in_the_Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you make it feel like home, if I tell you you're mine?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Kiss You Hard In The Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at bondkink.livejournal.com:
> 
> Post-Skyfall. Est. Relationship. Tanner is James' protector.
> 
> Tanner hits (or does something physically violent) when someone (M, Q, Eve?) says something bad about James.

Bond rolls over and sits up, arching his back as he stretches.

Too early.

He shifts on the bed and looks round behind him at the still sleeping Tanner, sprawled naked on his front across the bed, arms under the pillow, the sheet covering just the lower two thirds of his shapely arse. His right leg is bent slightly, lifting his hip away from the mattress, which James concludes to be a subconscious effort to relieve the pressure on his morning erection.

James lays back down beside him again, wondering what could have possessed him to think about getting up, when such a tempting sight lay next to him. He lightly runs the middle finger of his left hand down Bill's spine, from shoulder to coccyx, and applies slightly more pressure as he runs it along the exposed cleft between Bill's buttocks, rewarded with a sleepy moan of appreciation that goes straight to his own cock. 

Bill's skin is pale and soft, in comparison to the hard, tanned, and mission-scarred skin that covers James' body. James knows that Bill makes the effort to get to the gym at least twice a week, but his body is very much that of an office worker; definitely masculine, but lacking the wiry definition of an active field agent.

James rolls towards Bill, allowing his palm to rest on his lover's right arse cheek, giving it a subtle squeeze. Bill hums approvingly, and his right arm emerges from under the pillow to drape itself across James, pulling him closer. Gently throwing his left leg across Bill's right one, James slides his left hand up from Bill's backside until it comes to rest in the small of his back. He finds it amusing that, wrapped up like this with Bill, he feels safe, as if nothing can hurt him. Which, given their physical differences, is somewhat perverse; James would easily be the one to protect Bill in a fight.

But this, this thing they have, it's not about the physical. James would never admit it, but it's the emotional protection he values the most from Bill. Once he'd got his own grief under control, Bill had been an indispensable crutch and voice of reason. When the delayed reactions to the loss of M and the destruction of his childhood home had hit James like a juggernaut, Bill had been the one who recognised that the thin veneer of normal functioning was showing cracks. He had been a sounding board for the guilt and rage, organised the counseling, the sabbatical, even took some time off himself to be with James, for his own peace of mind; knowing how easily the agent had managed to convince the psychiatrist that he wasn't at risk of self-harming.

But Bill knew different. He noticed the sudden free fall into promiscuity and alcohol. Straight suicide wasn't Bond's style, but the drink-driving, and unprotected sex with street girls, would have been just as effective in the long term. James hears the soft rhythm of rain falling outside, and it somehow enhances his feeling of contentment, lying here next to the friend who has somehow become so much more. 

_It's raining on the night Bond drinks too much from the bottle of whiskey rolling around the passenger seat, driving his car into the side of a building after dropping off the girl. The rain falls on to his bloodied face through the shattered windscreen, as he speed dials Tanner's number with shaking fingers, an edge of hysteria upon him, laughing as he describes his situation to the silence at the other end of the line._

_Tanner only says three words:_

"On my way."

_Bond is so happy to see Tanner first on the scene, that he gives in to the threatening hysterics; as Tanner helps him from the car, lucky that his legs hadn't been crushed in the impact, Bond collapses against him, sobbing without shame in his friend's arms, the rain soaking them both as they wait for the clean-up team to come and deal with the carnage._

_When Bond feels like he's wept all the Scotch from his bloodstream, he lifts his head from Tanner's shoulder, and when their eyes meet, something hitherto unspoken surfaces, and before either knows what is happening, Bond is pulling Tanner's face close, kissing his mouth desperately, hungrily, spurred on by the lack of resistance and swiftly apparent reciprocation._

_The rain continues to beat down on the wreckage of his life._

Bill slumbers alongside James, breaths deep and even, his arm possessively holding James against him. The rain continues to beat against the bedroom window, as James reaches down and pulls the covers up over them, slowly following Bill back into sleep.

***

They always arrive at HQ separately, there's no point in starting rumours and becoming the subject of gossip, and anyone of value to Bond is a weakness to be exploited.

Bond envies Tanner's cool detachment and textbook professionalism. He himself has a weakness for flirtation, and has to bite his tongue so often around Tanner, that he wonders it's not mincemeat by now. Tanner gives nothing away, treats Bond with the same aloofness as the other agents, doesn't blush when Bond can't help himself and winks at him. Nobody suspects that at night, they lay in each other's arms, pressed together, stroking each other to climax.

Because it's not about the sex.

They don't even fuck. It's all quite tame; 'manual relief', as the training would call it. But they're _close_ , and it keeps Bond on track, gives him purpose; James notices the fleeting glimmer of pride in Tanner's eyes when Mallory praises 'our irredeemably maverick double-O.'

Tanner has noticed how Bond has upped his game.

It's only in the privacy of the small, windowless briefing room that Tanner lets down his guard and lifts his hand to Bond's cheek, their eyes meeting briefly before they share a chaste kiss.

And then Bond is gone.

Another mission, another game of chance with all their lives. The vicious intolerance of another agent's failure to return a piece of sensitive equipment, is the only clue that Tanner is aching more inside with every mile the charter flight puts between them.

***

It's been two weeks.

Bond is deep under cover, and Tanner only goes home occasionally, to catch up on sleep and get fresh clothes, eating and showering at MI6. When his constant pacing gets on Mallory's nerves, he goes to the gym and chews miles on the exercise bike instead, his ear-piece only coming out when he showers, and _only_ because Q won't justify signing him out a waterproof one for normal use.

Everyone suspects his shortened temper and merciless discipline are because of what happened to Mallory's predecessor; they indulge him, knowing how hard it hit him to be left behind and powerless to assist.

Mallory doesn't even try to persuade him to get more rest and take some time off; the glacial blue eyes dare him to even _think_ about it.

The silence from Bond is deafening.

***

It's the middle of the fifth week when Tanner snaps.

Bond finally checks in, although fleetingly. And there is no opportunity to trade endearments, not that either of them tries. Just knowing Bond is alive is enough to lift Tanner's black mood, and hearing the concern in his voice is a comfort to Bond, reminding him why he needs to get this done and get back to London.

_"Idiot."_

The word is barely more than a whisper, but Tanner catches it, turns to face Double-O Three, his face a mask of contempt.

_"What_ did you say?" 

The agent lifts a brow cockily, and shrugs.

"He's an idiot. Five weeks he's dragged this out, it could have been over in two. He should have killed Fage from the off, squeezed his boyfriend for the intel."

Despite his superior physical strength and reactions, Double-O Three wasn't expecting his Chief of Staff to land a punch hard enough to break his nose, let alone follow it so swiftly with an expert jab to the solar plexus.

Winded and bleeding, the agent drops to his knees, coughing, as Tanner rubs the split knuckles of his right hand, staring down unrepentantly at the injured man.

"Home. _Now_."

Mallory's voice is calm, but the threat of consequences lurk beneath the tone. Tanner turns to face him, holding his injured hand against his chest. His gaze flicks between his superior and the groaning agent. He drops his earpiece on the desk as he leaves.

***

"You really punched him?" asks James with a smirk, as they drive to Bill's home from the debriefing.

"Caught him a nice one in the stomach as well," replies Bill, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to grin at James.

"He always was a smug bastard, I hope you wiped that grin off his face for good."

***

When they've toasted the mission success, James eagerly pushes Bill down on to the couch, all but devouring every inch of him with his desperate mouth, realizing now he is back in England again, just how much he has missed him. 

As they lay there, breathless and sweaty, having spilled themselves with such raw emotion into each other's hands, James luxuriates in the knowledge that Bill literally defended his honour, risking a disciplinary to stick up for him. It's really quite touching; Bill lives and breathes MI6, James can't imagine what he would possibly do if he had to leave the Service.

It's probably time to move from the couch to the bedroom, but Bill has James enveloped in his arms, pinned against the back of the couch, and James surrenders to that feeling of safety again, imagining that Double-O Three would likely find it emasculating. But it makes James feel strong, protected, _loved_.

They don't speak their emotions, but James had felt it tonight; they had surrendered to each other so completely, and with such intensity, that the word had almost formed on his lips as he came.

_Home._


End file.
